


Runner's High

by heyselene



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Dean Winchester, Camping, Dean Winchester is Loved, Demon Blood, Demon Blood Addict Sam Winchester, Eating Disorders, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Food Issues, Gander Mountain, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I started this fic when I was sad and drunk, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Overworking, Panic Attacks, Parental Bobby Singer, Protective Dean Winchester, Running, Sam Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Sam Winchester Has Panic Attacks, Sam Winchester Has an Eating Disorder, Sam Winchester is Not Okay, Suicidal Thoughts, Summer, Therapy, Worried Dean Winchester, You heard me, and credit card dividends, from Cas, mentioned - Freeform, thank god, you will be able to tell, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24683929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyselene/pseuds/heyselene
Summary: "It's fine Dean, I can tell. It's nothing we can't fix," Sam is lying because he's desperate. He knows his lies are shit when he's desperate.Dean calls his bullshit so fast with a furrowed brow, "What the fuck Sammy, it's not fine, I saw you crack your elbow, I heard it break."Sam opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. He has his elbow against his chest protectively, protecting it from Dean.Dean slows down, his lips frowning, and he leans back to give Sam some space, "Sammy?"Sam just shakes his head quickly, nervously.Fuck Sam is so out of it. His head is spinning and he can't come up with a good way to cover this up, because Dean is gonna want to look at his arm, and Sam knows damn well he's gotten too tiny for Dean not to be worried.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, but only a little - Relationship
Comments: 25
Kudos: 212





	Runner's High

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This fic is really personal and requires a warning, so here we go:
> 
> Major trigger warning, in a big old fat way for eating disorders.  
> Sam has an eating disorder here. There is lots of warped perspective and it takes a form that most people don't realize is a problem until it's too late.
> 
> I personally have never been diagnosed with any type of eating disorder, but I am self-aware enough to recognize that I probably should have been. (I am still working on that one myself because there's a little voice in my head right now that's telling me that I was fine and nothing was wrong, even though I know there was). Things are far better now. I still have a lot to work through when it comes to this topic personally.
> 
> I have always been bothered by how eating disorders have been portrayed in media as an obsession with looks: I sometimes felt the desire to be skinny and pretty, but mostly I was in desperate need to control— and I loved the feeling so being so hungry that I was out of it.
> 
> I am approaching that here with Sam, trying to explain how slippery this slope gets, and how mind-warping it can be to love it and fight for it when you know you desperately need help.
> 
> I've also written Dean kinda cheesy: in real life, I found no one noticed anything was off and no one knew how to respond in the ways I needed when I asked for help. I've really had to grow and learn to take care of myself because that's just how it has worked out for me. There is no savior in a boyfriend, girlfriend, or an online chat forum. You either consume this, or it consumes you.
> 
> My hopes are that you guys are able to find someone like Dean to help you help yourselves.
> 
> Please stay safe. It's never worth it to get sick like this, even if you want control. Even if you want to be smaller. There are better ways.
> 
> Love always!

Sam didn't have a problem with it, to begin with.

Anything was better than being high on demon blood. Anything to distract Sam from the pounding need in his head to find the nearest demon, string them up and chomp into their neck.

It was worth it to see Dean so happy that he was sober. It was worth it to be sober. Sam felt like more of a functioning human being. Even though the bad thoughts were back, at least he was himself dealing with them, not some shitty druggy version of himself.

The running is a distraction.

Whenever it gets to be too much-- when he needs release or a distraction-- he puts on his tennis shoes and goes out and pounds the pavement until he feels a little better.

Running is healthy. Salads are healthy, being sober is healthy. Sam will be healthy because he has to go cold turkey from everything bad or else he will slip again.

Somewhere in his head, he is aware that this isn't a very well adjusted way to be thinking about being healthy. There is health in balance, but Sam has never... had that.

So he runs when he wakes up with a nightmare. He runs when he's not hungry for anything but blood. He runs when Dean won't tell him what's wrong, and he runs when he can't figure out what's wrong with himself. He runs when he's feeling anxious, when he's feeling tired, when he's feeling restless, when he's feeling angry. Sam runs holes in his old shitty running shoes.

One day he passes a running store. He pops in and realizes that there's a whole market for this shit. He drops $200 on a nice pair of running shoes, then quite a bit more on some running clothes and a band to put around his arm so he can listen to Spotify when he's running.

It makes him feel better that other people like to run too.

He joins a subreddit about it- - finds out that running is a great way to deal with stress and to stay fit. It gives your body endorphins and keeps you sharp.

Some of the guys on there are really cool and he even finds himself posting on a couple of threads.

The first time Sam really experiences the thing that makes running a problem is on a hot day.

It's been 80 degrees out all day, and Dean is bitching, but wearing basketball shorts and sitting outside their motel in a plastic chair he found, drinking beer. The sun is blaring and the pavement bakes.

Sam doesn't actually mind this heat, it sort of reminds him of California, and that makes him happy. He does his research on a chair near Dean, and they keep the motel door open to feel the breeze. He scoots into the sun occasionally to get some on his shoulders, knowing it'll feel nice to be a little tan.

Their sorta on their way back to Bobby's, but taking a break to slowly work their way through the southwest.

By the evening, the sun has started to set and the heat isn't quite so drastic. It's still 72 degrees, but Sam feels good enough to go out on the run he had missed that morning because of the heat.

Dean doesn't give a fuck, he's FaceTiming Cas from the kitchenette and reheating Chinese food.

Sam takes off in the evening sunlight and settles quickly into a comfortable jog.

Pretty soon he's running hard, and it feels so fucking good. His feet hit the pavement and his calves stretch to carry him forward. His lungs are pressing in and out and in again. He watches the world go by like he's a passanger in his own body.

The street he's running down is actually pretty great too. It's a bunch of old houses in an old neighborhood, where the trees are really tall and hanging over the street. He can see the sun catching the clouds all orange and pink in the distance, and there is a hint of mountains in the distance.

Sam is hit with the understanding that this is someone else's life he's getting a glimpse of right here: someone else has woken up and lived this street and these mountains their whole life.

It makes him desperately sad for some reason, and he can't decide if he thinks he should feel that way.

Sam picks up his pace to make his lungs burn. This will take his mind off the burning in his chest.

When he's sure he's gone at least a few miles he slows to a walk. He likes to walk in the middle of his run and take everything in for a while. Plus, this means he can stay out for longer.

But as soon as he stops running, he's hit with a wave of vertigo.

Damn, he thinks to himself, it must be hot out.

He's felt dizzy after a really long run before, but never like this. His head is spinning so nicely.

The sky is pink and purple, and the air around him is hot. The sun glitters a little through the leaves of the trees and Sam feels fucking high.

He knows this is probably because he has exerted himself too hard in the heat, but he is too entranced to care. He's been in enough shitty situations to know that he's not in any danger.

So Sam lets himself be sick for a moment and soaks up the awesome, drugged up feeling, like he's left his body completely, and he has no idea where he is.

Without meaning too, Sam feels himself start running again.

It's even better that way: now he's dizzy and his brain is practically silent but the world flies by. Like he's a passenger in his body, but this time he's drunk off his ass and its a roller coaster.

He runs and runs and runs until he has no idea where he is, and he has to collapse on a bench because his knees are too wobbly to keep him up.

As he hits the park bench, he realizes its dark, and he's surrounded by fireflies and sticky night air.

Thank god for google maps, because he has no idea where the fuck he ended up. Thank god for the cold air and the thirty-minute walk, because that's about how long it takes for Sam to sober up from this "runner's high".

\--

The problem is that it isn't always warm out.

Sam finds out quickly that he's in pretty good shape, so it actually takes quite a lot to get him to the point where everything fades away like that.

He does it sometimes when he has the time to run and run and run. It's better when he gets the distance in, just sprinting makes his lungs ache and his body hurt, instead of getting all faded and loopy.

So it's a special occasion to run until he's fucking drunk on it.

One weekend, Sam gets sick with the flu.

He's in bed for a couple of days, drinking tons of Gatorade and barely keeping any food down. He doesn't have an appetite. He's restless because he can't get out and run, but he knows he'll feel worse if he tries to exercise.

When the worst of it passes, Dean finally begrudgingly lets him go out for a jog.

Sam feels awesome at first-- it feels so good to be out of bed after a few days of being cooped up-- but it quickly becomes something else.

He's a little dizzy because he's been sick, but mostly because he hasn't eaten anything solid in probably three days.

The hunger spin is instant and drastic. He is dizzy and his limbs feel numb and weak. He forgets about his breath, about his sore muscles and about all his worries.

Sam loses himself completely, and he loves it.

Fuck it feels good. It's like the time when it had been hot out, but now its a comfortable temperature.

Sam looks down at his hands and watches them swim in his vision in awe.

He slows to a stumbling walk, turning his head left and right to take in how the world tilts and shifts, like he's just done a line of coke, or sucked blood from Ruby's thighs after eating her out.

There's no way Sam's not doing this again.

\--

And that's just the beginning of it.

Sam never knows when he's gonna need a new hit of this drug he's discovered, but he wants to be prepared at all times, like a druggie. But he's not a druggie, he's healthy. He's an athlete.

He stops eating, it's as simple as that. He eats after he's run that day when he remembers to. He hoards his empty stomach like a needle or an altoid box. Sam realizes that he spent so much time eating before too. Now he wakes up, gets moving, and never stops to weigh himself down.

Dean is careful to buy Sam food anyway, careful to ask if Sam is hungry, but Sam is a grown-ass adult, so Dean doesn't really push that hard. Dean is also just happy that Sam is spending some time on his own. Sam has stopped pestering Dean to open up so much because he's too busy with his side project. Plus, Sam is solving cases faster than ever before, and he's actually in a better place when it comes to managing his mental health (aside from the obvious).

Sam actually stops running as far. It only takes 4 or 5 miles before he's so gone that sometimes he spins around in a few delirious circles and then collapses on the grass with a grin on his face.

He's lighter than ever before -- when he's coherent, he's focused and working smarter than ever before. When he's delirious with hunger or exhaustion, he's too tired to think about all the shit that used to weigh him down. He's easily less anxious and he sleeps like a rock.

But Sam is also lighter than ever before in another way-- he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror one day and realizes that he's lost weight. And muscle. He's sorta stopped lifting weights and doing strength training in favor of cardio, so he's not surprised, but either way, Sam has to do a double-take.

He looks skinny. He looks young, like his college self, all floppy and confused.

Sam feels queasy when he looks at himself like that, so he simply stops looking.

This is the same time that Sam realizes that he's well and truly addicted and that this is no longer a healthy exercise routine, but some sort of sickening coping mechanism

That does not sit well with him at all.

He sits down and eats breakfast with Dean the next morning. He tries to pretend like it's not agonizing to eat the toast.

He's come to associate eating with inefficiency, with sobriety, with anxiety. He takes a few bites and chews slowly, and pretends to be absorbed with his phone.

Sam caves later and runs again, just a quick mile run in the rain, getting him dizzy enough that he doesn't have it in him to worry about the fact that it took less than one piece of toast to have him slipping back.

Sam recognizes that this time is worse than before too. It's like an addiction, except this time he's mentally compartmentalized it into some sort of miracle cure to all his problems. He's been so certain that this was a healthy good thing, and now it's collapsing on him.

He knows that he should, but he's too fucked up to ask for help. He's too dependent on this now to even think about letting this go.

So he decides to cling to it.

Sam does everything he can to make sure that Dean doesn't know about the running thing, about the no food thing.

Sam "eats" meals in his room. He "grabs food" in a diner without Dean. He pushes the food around until Dean's in the shower and then wraps it in hotel tissues and hides it at the bottom of the bin. He leaves crumbs on a fucking plate so it looks like he's had food (he feels really weird about this one).

Sam is a mess.

He knows he can see his ribs a little— his fucking bones he's reducing himself to bones— and so he wears an extra layer. This isn't weird though, because Sam has been layering his whole life.

His knees knock together, all lanky now. He feels weird.

Sometimes he feels like he can't log back into his body at all like he's a passenger all the time. He likes it a lot but he's also absolutely terrified. Like when you forget about something, but know there was something you were worried about. He's sitting in the passenger seat and there's no one fucking driving, and Sam knows he should be worrying about that, but for some reason, he's not.

—-

It comes to a head on a case.

Sam gets his balance knocked by a vengeful spirit and gets thrown at a wall.

He hears a sick crack against the wall and knows right away that shit is broken. It wasn't a hard throw, but Sam doesn't have much mass anymore, and he knows he's like a toothpick.

Sam takes inventory of his body slowly, the fall making him a little queasy (plus the fact that he hasn't eaten anything in three days). He can tell his left arm has a break in the elbow, and that his hip is definitely out of wack some way, but he feels ok other than that. He's sure his back is bruised, but he's happy to find that his ribs are all good so he can breathe easy.

Dean has the spirit burnt in minutes and is fussing over Sam in no time.

"Let me check it out Sam," Dean says, trying to pull back Sam's sleeves.

Sam shakes his head, "No Dean, I'm good. We'll wrap it back at the hotel."

"Sam, it's your fucking left elbow. You've broken that shit one too many times, lemme see," Dean is insistent.

"It's fine Dean, I can tell. It's a break, but nothing we can't fix," Sam is lying because he's desperate. He knows his lies are shit when he's desperate.

Dean calls his bullshit so fast with a furrowed brow, "What the fuck Sammy, it's not fine, I saw you crack your elbow, I heard it break."

Sam opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. He has his elbow against his chest protectively, protecting it from Dean.

Dean slows down, his lips frowning, and he leans back to give Sam some space, "Sammy?"

Sam just shakes his head quickly, nervously.

Fuck Sam is so out of it. His head is spinning and he can't come up with a good way to cover this up, because Dean is gonna want to look at his arm, and Sam knows damn well he's gotten too tiny for Dean not to be worried.

It's too much. All this hard work for nothing. All this covering up his little game and now Dean is gonna find out because of a stupid ghost. Sam is gonna have to give up the one thing that has been able to help him. Sam's never gonna be able to run again. Dean is going to be so mad.

Sam starts to cry. He's so relieved. It's finally over. Finally, Dean will see and Dean will know how to fix him, Dean will fix it. Dean's gonna stop it and take it away and Sam will never be high again. Sam will go back to being anxious and scared and not sleeping and he'll have to eat—-

Sam is spiraling really fast, and he's doing it in front of Dean. His head is confusing like he can't trust it at all, and he wonders who is driving right now. His breathing has gotten fast and he knows this well enough to realize that he's having a fucking panic attack on the floor.

He sees Dean's terrified wide eyes and Dean's lips moving, but he can't hear a thing.

Sam kinda loses it for a bit, and not in a fun way. He's in pain, his chest heavy and tight and his whole body shaking and jarring the newly broken bones.

He can feel himself getting tucked so his head is between his knees, and he knows that's Dean's big hands on his back.

Sam is so fucking glad-afraid that Dean is here.

Eventually, Sam evens out enough to come to and realize what's happened.

The recognition of the things that sent him into the panic attack makes him start to panic a little again, but at least this time, Dean is there to coax him out an distract him,

"Smart work with the burning the recipe box there, Sammy. I would have never thought of that, didn't even know there was such a thing. She must have loved to bake," Dean says.

"Y-yeah, she did-d," Sam stammers.

"Like baking cakes, or cooking?" Dean asks, trying to give Sam something to latch on to. Helping him with simple questions.

"B-baking. She owns SweetHearts," Sam says.

"What's SweetHearts?" Dean asks, even though Sam knows that Dean is aware of what it is.

"Her bakery," Sam answers dutifully.

"Her own bakery! Good for her. We should check it out again, smelled good. What was that bakery near Tomah you liked again?"

Sam does not want to talk about food right now, but answers anyway, "Greenbrush. But they moved to—"

"Oh yeah, to Madison. I forgot."

They're quiet for a moment, and Sam's breathing evens out.

"You gonna be ok to get to the car?" Dean asks.

Sam nods miserably.

"Ok," Dean agrees, standing up and then hauling Sam to his feet.

Sams's head spins, but Dean catches him into a gentle hug.

Sam just lets himself melt into Dean. He feels like a little kid, so absolutely wrecked and so impossibly tired that he can't do much more.

"I don't know what's going on, Sammy, but it's going to be okay. We're gonna figure it out, ok?" Dean says in his ear.

Sam's eyes make new tears, and he's so fucking thankful for Dean.

—

Dean gets Sam sitting on the motel bed so he's got a blanket over him so he doesn't go into shock. Then Dean starts to gather the supplies for splinting and bandaging Sam's arm. They've done this enough that if it seems like a just a fracture, they could even just deal with it without a doctor.

Sam thinks about telling Dean what he's going to encounter when they finally get his arm out but decides against it because it just seems easier to let Dean find out.

Sam shucks his jacket and flannel so Dean can't do it for him, and sits there in his now too-baggy T-shirt, resigned.

"Ok well, if it's not too bad we could sling it too. I've got a sling in the trunk but—" Dean stops mid-sentence, his mouth falling open a little as he takes in his little brother's appearance.

"What the—" Dean stops himself, coming closer to grab at Sam's T-shirt.

Apparently Sam was wrong about getting away with not having Dean undress him because Dean is yanking up Sam's T-shirt too, revealing Sam's bony ribs and pale-skinned chest.

"What the fuck." Dean finishes his phrase this time, looking completely lost, and shaking his head a little like he's trying to convince himself he isn't having a nightmare.

Sam almost laughs at that thought: This is a nightmare. Sam's cover is blown. And Sam is so fucking sick that the nightmare isn't that he's unhealthily skinny, it's that he's going to get help.

Dean sits down next to Sam, forgetting completely about his arm, and apparently lost for words and just staring at Sam's body.

"Damnit, Sam."

Sam feels the tears but keeps his eyes down. He knew Dean would be mad at him. How could Sam do this to Dean? How could Sam do this to himself? This is all Sam's fault.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Dean asks instead, completely short-stopping Sam's train of thought.

"What?" Sam says, incredulously.

"Why didn't you ask for help? You know I'd help you with this," Dean says.

Sam stares at him, trying to process this, "You're not... mad at me?"

Dean squints and thinks about this, "I guess I kinda am, yeah. But because you didn't say anything. What's going on Sammy? I'm more confused and pissed at myself, to tell you the truth."

Sam has had this conversation with Dean in his brain lots of times, but it's never gone down like this. Sam's obsessive mind has picked through all the ways Dean could yell at him, but this one has never, ever, been in the cards.

"Sam," Dean presses softly again, "what's going on? Why are you so skinny?"

"Uh," Sam doesn't even know what to say.

"Are you sick? Do you have cancer?" Dean asks.

That clicks into place and Sam realizes that Dean thinks he's sick. That this isn't Sam's fault. That's why Dean isn't pissed.

Sam shakes his head, "No, Dean no. I'm ok, I promise."

Dean laughs humorlessly, "yeah, no you're not."

Sam's face falls further if that's possible and he bites the bullet and tells Dean simply, "It's my fault. I fucked up and did this."

"Did what?" Dean asks, still looking lost.

"I got all skinny and sick looking," Sam explains.

"I'm not understanding here Sam, how? What's going on?" Dean is seriously going to make Sam say it out loud.

Later it will occur to Sam that perhaps Dean had never even heard of anything like this before. That, of course, Dean didn't know what to say. Dean had never touched an eating problem with a ten-foot pole.

"I fucking stopped eating, ok? On purpose," Sam comes clean.

Dean is stunned, "On purpose?"

Sam nods.

Dean opens and closes his mouth like a fish.

They are quiet for a long time.

Finally, Dean starts to check out Sam's arm. He presses in a bunch of spots and watches Sam's reaction before deciding it's a sling and strap sort of situation.

Dean looks at the materials they have, runs a hand through his hair, and then gets up. He grabs his jacket and shoes, saying, "I'm gonna go get another roll of that stretchy wrap stuff from Walgreens and some better painkillers. I promise I will be right back."

Dean is out the door before Sam is really aware it's happening.

Sam slumps onto the bed, wincing at his hip and wondering what the fuck just happened.

—

Dean is gone longer than a Walgreen's run, but that doesn't really surprise Sam.

Later, when Sam's arm is wrapped tight and secure against his chest, Dean gets to checking his hip, which involves Sam in his too-loose boxers, looking like a sad little kid.

Dean is checking the already forming bruise out when he says, "Why are you starving yourself on purpose?"

Sam is caught off guard and says "Huh?"

"You're not eating on purpose. Explain it to me, why?" Dean says, looking determined.

"Uh..." Sam says again, intelligently.

"Do you want to be skinnier?" Dean wonders.

"No! No. Not really," Sam admits. He's spooked by small he is. He wants to go back to being the Sammy that he's used to— muscled and strong— but he's too weak to start eating again.

"Then why aren't you eating?" Dean says, frustrated.

"Because it makes me dizzy," Sam says to try to get Dean to stop getting angry, like that answer will clear the air.

"What?" Dean says, looking even more frustrated.

Sam hurries to explain it further, "When I run. Or just whenever. If I'm on an empty stomach, I get pretty dizzy and my mind feels kinda... empty. It's like being— yknow— high."

"Like being high," Dean repeats.

Well, now that they're saying it out loud, it does sound pretty stupid.

"Yeah, sorry I know that's stupid," Sam apologizes, feeling like an absolute piece of shit. He's caused this whole mess because he liked getting dizzy. That's so fucking stupid.

"Sam, if you're at the point that you cannot bring yourself to eat, something is really not ok. It's not stupid, but it is scary," Dean's words actually are very clear and careful.

Sam gapes at him, but nods.

"I'm not sure exactly what we're dealing with here, but you need to promise to talk to me. Be honest with me. I don't know what I'm doing," Dean says, looking determined, "But I do know I am going to help you make it better, Sammy."

How is it that Dean, even without knowing anything about what the right thing to say is, somehow seems to know exactly the words every. single. time?

Knowing that Dean has no idea what's going on either makes Sam feel at lot better. At least neither of them have a clue. At least Sam isn't stupid for not knowing what to do about this. And, Sam's not alone in it anymore.

"Yeah, okay Dean. Thanks," Sam says.

Dean nods, "Of course. Now, do you think you need to see a specialist or somethin'? You're pretty skinny, kid, and I don't want to lose you because we don't know how to fix this on our own."

Sam doesn't like the sound of seeing a doctor in the slightest, and he shakes his head rapidly at that, "No please, I think I can fix it, I don't want to see a doctor."

Dean eyes him disbelievingly, "Okay Sammy. Okay. But if you start to slip, we're going to find someone."

Sam nods gratefully. He definitely doesn't want some bitch in white coat involved in this sick mess. That's both embarrassing and terrifying.

Dean assesses the bruises on his thigh again. It looks pretty bad, Sam won't lie. He's been bruising easier ever since he started this shit, which sucks.

"Well, I think this is gonna be a pretty bad bruise, but nothing you can't handle. You should ice it though," Dean declares.

Dean seems glad to have the excuse to leave the motel room again in search of ice.

Sam hits the bed like a bag of rocks, barely registering Dean handing him a motel-towel wrapped bag of ice that he sets gingerly on his hip. Sam is exhausted. Between hunting, talking about his feelings, and having that panic attack, he's about ready to sleep for a week.

"'Night Sammy."

"Goodnight Dean."

\--

Dean and Sam start eating meals together. Dean doesn't push on the amount of what Sam eats, letting him get away with a few nibbles here and there to start.

They establish a routine with breakfast. There is always coffee and juice of some kind. There is always more food available if Sam is feeling up to it. Dean makes conversation, has them facetime with one of their friends or puts on something on Youtube whenever they eat.

Sam starts to enjoy spending extra time with Dean, and he can tell that Dean is surprised how much he enjoys it too. Those extra minutes of socializing, even if it is just his brother, are going a long way. He wonders if Dean is trying to create positive associations with mealtime on purpose.

Dean checks on him at lunch, and most of the time they eat dinners together too.

Sam can eat yogurt. He can do dry bread, but not too much. He'll nibble at meat, but he's more likely to consume more calories if Dean doesn't push him to eat meat.

Dean is learning little things about Sam's habits.

They start eating more vegetarian meals because everything is easier for Sam to justify if its "healthier". Dean also finds out that the meat rub he uses on the grill tastes just as good on grilled chickpeas. Sam is also treated to Dean's mozzarella filled portabella mushroom burgers.

Sam is afraid the first morning that Dean is going to cut him off completely from running, but Dean just says, "I'll go with you!"

Dean is a much slower runner than Sam. He's never been one much for exercise unless they're running away from something. Honestly, Sam is glad for a slower pace too. He's too weak to be going as fast or as hard as he had been.

Dean's company forces him to stay in his head, not letting him slip away. Running becomes just exercise when he runs with Dean.

Dean stops them, out of breath before Sam even feels warmed up.

Things are not smooth though. Sam still has that internal voice, and most of the time he still doesn't feel like he's driving his own life.

He takes off after a ghoul on a hunt and has to sprint to catch it. He gets it cornered and kills it, and before he realizes what he's doing, Sam is running and running and running until he eventually is back down the street where he knows Dean is.

When he arrives, Dean looks confused and Sam's lungs are heaving. He feels that head spin start to take over, and his limbs tingle in the best way.

Sam can't help but grin dopily and Dean narrows his eyes at him.

"Sorry," Sam breathes, "I got started and couldn't stop."

Dean shakes his head and sighs, "You're okay man. I just don't want you to stop eating again, okay?"

Sam nods quickly, and later in the diner, he eats more than half of the vegan Reuben sandwich that he orders.

Sam starts to be able to handle more food. Mentally and physically. One morning, he swears Dean looks like its Christmas when Sam has made pancakes for the both of them.

"Don't get too excited, they've got oatmeal in them," Sam says.

"Dude," Dean exclaims, "Those are the fucking best kind!"

Sam seriously does not know what he would do without Dean.

Later that week though, Sam and Dean pop into Bobby's. He's got the information they need for a case, and it's been a while since they've seen the guy.

"Getting awfully skinny there boy," Bobby huffs after he pulls away from a hug with Sam. He's turning to hug Dean so he doesn't catch a glimpse of Sam's hurt face.

Sam won't lie, that doesn't feel good. He's actually gained a lot of weight lately. He just doing his best, and to hear that it's still not working, that Sam still isn't good enough...

At dinner, Bobby piles the food up on his plate and that makes Sam grimace again.

Bobby notices this time, "What? You've gotta be eating enough Sam. It's not healthy for someone your size to be so thin"

It's not healthy.

It's not healthy.

Sam is shaking now, on the edge of something, and Dean seems to notice, "Sammy..."

Sam gets up abruptly and leaves the table, getting out of the door before he can even realize what's happening.

Sam starts to run. It takes longer, but still, pretty quickly, Sam finds that everything melts away. He's miles from Bobby's now, and the evening sun is quickly becoming night. Sam decides to keep going, running back to Bobby's. He's already made it this far.

By the time he's home, he's actually exhausted. His body isn't used to doing that anymore, and now with more food in him, he's got the energy to realize how shit he's gonna feel later. Right now though, it feels like he's completely faded out. Things pass by in flickers. The lightning bugs sparkle and it feels kaleidoscopic. Sam forgot how good this is.

His arms and legs tingle pleasantly. He's not even sure it feels like he's in a vehicle anymore, he's just surrounded in the clouds as the world sways around him. Bobby's salvage yard is eerie at this time of night, piled high with cars so every corner feels dangerous. The world tilts and shifts like Sam's been spun in circles a few too many times.

Sam remembers vaguely at this moment a time from when he was camping with some friends back in middle school. They pitched a tent in the backyard of a friend's house on a warm summer night when Dad had left him and Dean for a couple of months in Tennesse.

Andrew and his litter sister Blake had shown Sam how to go Star-Tipping. This essentially meant spinning Sam in circles over and over and over while he looked up at the sky, and then shining a bright light in his eyes to have him stumbling to the ground in a heap.

Sam remembers laughing so hard his eyes had tears and feeling the whole world spin with him-- like he was one with everything. Looking back, Sam knows that he will associate that moment with a carefree childhood forever. Before he knew what it meant to let everything fade out.

Sam spins in a circle once or twice now, wondering if he could still feel like he's one with the world if he just shines a flashlight in his eyes and goes toppling into the grass.

Sam flops down on the grass right outside Bobby's house, letting out a depressed little laugh because it will never quite be the same.

"What the fuck is going on with you, boy?" Bobby's voice carries off of the porch and slices through Sam's thoughts.

It appears Sam has been too out of it to notice his audience.

Sam tries to sit up, but he overshoots it because he's hazy and he ends up flopping forward awkwardly with a groan.

"Where's Dean?" Sam mutters his head in his hand.

"Took the Impala and went out looking for your dumb ass," Bobby tells him.

Sam blinks his eyes open, "I'm good, I'm right here."

"Yeah, I called 'im when I saw you spinnin' all over the yard. You drunk boy?"

Sam pauses for a moment, "Yeah," he lies finally.

Bobby sighs then comes to sit on the steps so he's closer to Sam.

"What's this I'm hearing about an Eating Disorder, Sam?"

Sam is surprised. He's thought about these words many times, but he's never said them out loud, and Dean has sure as hell never brought that up with him.

"Who the fuck told you that?" Sam asks.

Bobby glares, "Your brother."

Sam shakes his head, "It's not that bad Bobby. I'm doin' better I swear. I swear."

But that's practically admitting to it, isn't it? Just by saying its better, Sam has basically told Bobby, "Yeah, I have a problem". But for some reason, Sam feels like he has to tell Bobby.

Bobby watches him for a long time.

Finally, the old man speaks, "This ain't easy on your brother, you know."

Sam frowns. What?

"Dean's worried to the bone about you, I can tell. Frankly, I am too. If what Dean says is true, and you're better now than you were a few months ago, I can't even imagine what you've been like."

Sam runs a hand through his hair. It's soaked in old sweat.

"It doesn't help that he feels like this is his fault either," Bobby tells Sam.

"What? This isn't Dean's fault. He doesn't think that," Sam is certain about that.

"Really? He's practically walking around spitting guilt as he goes. Dean's been wallowing since you two showed up." Bobby looks surprised that Sam doesn't know this.

Sam is floored. He— he hadn't noticed that at all.

"Why would he feel guilty?" Sam whispers.

"Because you fucking stopped eating and he didn't notice until you busted up your arm and had a panic attack in front of him," Bobby says incredulously like Sam wasn't there when it happened.

Part of Sam is a little pissed that Dean just went and laid all this shit out in the open for Bobby, but another part is him is glad that Dean is getting it off his chest. Both of these emotions are overridden by the mix of guilt-shame-fear that hits Sam though. Fuck, he's really fucking up Dean's life, isn't he? First, the demon blood, then the eating-problem and now Sam didn't even realize that Dean feels responsible? How fucking shit does Sam have to be to not have noticed that Dean was having trouble too?

Bobby catches the look on Sam's face and stops him in his tracks, "Woah, boy, don't go getting all guilty on me too. I know that you don't blame Dean, so don't go beatin' yourself up about your brother. He'd do anything for ya."

Sam nods, his eyes a little teary.

"Just— Sam ya gotta take care of yourself, okay? I'm not saying that Dean can't help, but I also know that Dean sometimes forgets that it's not his job to take care of everyone all the time. You've gotta remember that big brother isn't invincible," Bobby is trying to find the words to make this clear. Sam realizes suddenly that Bobby really, really cares about them.

Sam nods again.

"And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed you," Bobby is apologizing for dinner, Sam gathers.

"You don't have to apologize, Bobby, that was on me. I'm just— still kinda mixed up right now."

Bobby makes a little noise of agreement, but it sounds kind of sad, and Sam lets that end the conversation.

They fade into quietly listening to the bugs until the Impala rumbles back into Bobby's gravel driveway.

Dean slams the driver's door and is jogging up to the steps barking, "Sammy? Is that you?"

"Yeah Dean, I'm right here."

"You ok?" Dean asks, looking Sam over once carefully, as if to take inventory of any injuries that have afflicted his little brother.

"I'm fine Dean. Doing better. Are you ok?"

Dean looks a little taken aback by this question but touched that Sam has asked. This makes Sam's heart hurt, and he resolves to check with Dean more often.

Dean breaks out into a grin and plops down onto the porch steps between Sam and Bobby, "Yeah Sammy, I'm all good."

——

Dean asks him about it, one night when they're drinking beer at the table after dinner (the beer is a new step for Sam too. He's been almost all the way sober since this all started. Moderation is being rewritten in his brain. It's healthy to have a beer occasionally.)

"What's it like?" He asks, "When you're high?"

Sam watches him warily, "Dean I've seen you high before. You know."

That's true, Sam walked in on Dean shotgunning weed to a girl more than once in high school. Hell, one time, Sam saw Dean paying for a tab of acid outside a bar when they were in their twenties.

Dean smiles a little at this, but presses on, "But that's different Sam. I assume it's not the same as the— yknow."

Sam lifts his eyebrows, "The not-eating thing?"

"I was gonna say the running-thing, but yeah," Dean supplies.

Sam sighs, thinking about it for a moment.

"I guess it's kinda like after you've been driving for a long long time. And you're all tired and you finally get in the passenger seat. But you can't keep your eyes open really, and you're dreaming more than awake."

Dean watches him.

"Like I'm running, and I can tell my body is tired, but instead of hurting, my head gets dizzy. My arms and legs all tingly, like I've just gotten hit with adrenaline or endorphins. It's kinda like the post-hunt high. Sometimes, I'd go in the evening when the sun is setting and everything would seem fake because it would be all golden out. Or when it got rainy I swear it was like I was having an out of body experience, because I could barely feel the rain on my skin."

Dean looks sad, but at the same time like he sorta gets what Sam is saying.

"Do you miss it?" Dean asks.

Sam frowns, "Of course. Everyday."

Dean bites his cheek as he brings his beer up for another sip.

"But there's a lot about it that I don't miss. Being out of control. Knowing in my head that I was dependent on it— that I was hiding it from you because I was so addicted to it."

"You were hiding it from me?" Dean asks, surprised.

"Duh," Sam says, shaking his head at Dean, "There's no way you wouldn't have noticed if I wasn't making it seem like I was eating. If I hadn't been wearing layers and avoiding you all the time."

Dean lets it a breath, and it looks like one he's been holding a long time.

"This isn't your fault Dean. Not even partly. You know that?" Sam checks.

"Yeah, Sammy. Of course, I know that," Dean is lying, and while both of them know it, neither of them will say anything about it.

They both take another sip of beer.

"That's the scariest part to me, Dean. I miss it. Some days, I feel like the good parts outweighed the bad parts."

"Really? Starving yourself to death wasn't enough?" Dean laughs.

"I mean, I know when I'm in a good state of mind that it's ridiculous to want it back, but I crave it. I was sleeping better, yknow? I was handling my anxiety better, having almost no panic attacks. We were solving cases every other day because I was sleeping longer and focusing better."

Dean considers that, "I can see how that could be tough to part with," but then he blinks and says, "But that's not sustainable Sam. You could never have lasted much longer than you did. And you were relying on it as a distraction for the stuff that you really needed help with."

"What do you mean?"

"Like trouble sleeping? Anxiety? I know it's our line of work man, but I'm starting to think maybe we both deserve to get medicated."

"Cas is rubbing off on you," Sam tells Dean with a laugh.

It's true, Castiel has been babbling to both the Winchesters about how much his antidepressants and therapist have helped him since he became human. Sam thinks maybe it worked better for Cas because he has never experienced the stigma around mental illness, especially in the hunter community. 

Plus, Castiel had been pretty quick to ask for help when he realized he couldn't get himself up out of bed, and he was finding himself considering all the new ways he could end his newly human life. (Dean has been shaken by this conversation with Castiel, and ever since then, the two of them had been even more attached at the hip than usual).

"Maybe he is," Dean agrees.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while.

"A therapist, huh? Meds?" Sam ponders, mostly to himself.

Dean hums.

And Sam thinks that maybe he'll actually consider it.

\--

Sam doesn't end up getting on meds, but he does start talking on the phone with a therapist once a week. He wires her money and she doesn't ask questions-- well, except for the questions she's supposed to ask.

Her name is Elena, and unlike Dean, she gets where he's coming from. She has a specialization in adults with eating disorders. She gets that Sam is messed up in the head, and she doesn't have to layer her concerned questions in careful words so things won't feel weird, like Dean does.

But, unlike Dean, she doesn't love him unconditionally.

So while its less personal, its also not as scary to open up to her. For one, she's objective to everything Sam shares with her.

"Yes, Sam, it's important to give Dean peace of mind, but it's also ok to be struggling yourself," She tells Sam. Sam has trouble dealing with the fact that he is responsible for being a burden on Dean. Elena assures him that Dean would not stick around if he did not want to be around Sam.

Sam worries that maybe Dean would leave if he knew better. That he's spent so much time "taking care of Sammy" that he doesn't know what else to do.

"Tell him that," She encourages Sam when he suggests that he feels like he needs to apologize to Dean, "And Sam? Maybe Dean should talk to someone too. It sounds like the two of you have had a bit of a rough time."

It feels kinda good to have someone acknowledge it.

The other thing about Elena is she isn't confused when he tells her how good it felt to not eat. In fact, she gets it.

"I can't tell you that you won't miss it. I can't tell you that you won't crave it. I can tell you that this is what eating disorders do to people Sam. They are obsessive and addictive, and I know you have figured that out. And you're right, it will kill you if you let yourself get too far," She tells him.

Sam is glad he has Elena, but he also recognizes that he couldn't have made it this far without his brother.  
—  
Sam tries to tell Dean this indirectly, in true Winchester fashion.

He asks Dean how he's doing more and more often. He buys Dean's favorite foods and tells Dean he's proud of him when Dean suggests that he's gonna try to lay off the hard liquor.

Sam starts to vocalize when he appreciates his brother.

"Yeah, Dean actually taught me how to do that when I was a kid," Sam tells Cas after he explains how to wrap grip tape on one of their machete handles.

"I did?" Dean asks, looking up from the gun he's cleaning.

Sam looks up and smiles a little, nodding, "Yeah. On that Vamp hunt in Idaho when we were like sixteen. Dad told us to get things cleaned up."

"Oh yeah. I guess I did," Dean says thoughtfully, and he looks a little proud of himself in a genuine way.

Sam tries to help Dean just like Dean has been helping him.  
\--

Sam continues to feel better.

He starts lifting weights because it's not cardio, but it still can relieve some stress. He feels good knowing he's still being healthy, but there's no easy way it can lead to him feeling dizzy.

Castiel asks Sam if he wants to join him on a run to the farmers market in Lebanon. Sam agrees but asks Cas if they can take it slow.

Dean looks like he can't decide whether he's more proud of Sam, or more in love with Cas.

He and Cas jog into town and chat the whole way. The sky is bright and blue and it's a cool spring day out. Sam forgets that he's running, and gets caught up in a conversation about how they could set up a couple of beehives on the bunker's property.

Cas décidés they should walk home because even though they didn't plan on buying anything, it turns out most places are cashless nowadays, and Sam has Apple Pay on his iPhone.

So they end up carrying quite a few bags of locally owned produce and a rainbow of honey sticks back to the bunker in plastic shopping bags.

Dean makes them strawberry rhubarb pie with the rhubarb they bring home and Cas says it makes him, "Very happy."

—

But some days are still hard.

Sam gets pneumonia on a hunt where he ends up left behind, tied to a tree for thirty-six hours. Not only is he deliriously hungry by the end, but he's also exhausted and shivery.

Dean gets a couple of cups of tea into him and then a bowl of beef barley soup before Sam passes out on the motel bed.

Sam's recovery is slow again. He has no appetite. He can barely keep down crackers at the beginning, which he knows is stressing Dean out. Dean asks him over and over again if he's refusing food because he's sick or because he wants to. Sam hates that Dean has to ask. He also hates that he kinda thinks the answer is both.

Dean is on his ass about eating for days afterward and refuses to let him exercise at all until weeks after Sam has recovered.

Sam understands why, but it still sucks.

—

Recovery is not linear, they always say.

Sam finds this is true. It's up and down and up again all the time, but he is definitely improving.

Looking back on it a year later, Sam will recognize that his behavior, choices, and reactions were influenced by the events of the months that came before it. It was a reaction to loss of his other addiction and having the apocalypse on his shoulders. It was him being young and reckless.

But Sam still feels like a failure some days because he's almost fully recovered. He feels stupid for not hiding it better because both Dean and Bobby know and they never should have found out. He feels dumb for asking for help when he probably didn't even have a problem in the first place. It was no big deal.

But, Sam also knows those thoughts are the insidious ones. The same that push him towards demon blood and whiskey. Sam knows he had a problem with eating, and he knows that it is okay to struggle with his mental health. It is okay to lean on Dean and Bobby and Cas, even when he feels like he's being bothersome.

Dean is still careful with him. He checks in on Sam occasionally and is sure to continue to pay Sam's therapist each month. Dean even agrees to run the "Save the Honeybee" 5k with them when Castiel convinces Sam to drive out to Oregon with him for it.

(Hell, Dean buys them all "Save The Bees" t-shirts off Etsy so they can match.)

Sam knows Dean loves him, and Cas. Sam is happy with the knowledge that even Dean has been doing better since he bit the bullet and kissed Cas.  
\--

After the 5k, which takes place in Portland, Dean suggests they go camping. Dean really does love to camp, and Castiel can't seem to tell Dean no, so they end up pitching two tents at a site paid for a week. It looks a bit suspicious, but Dean swears it has 5-star reviews on Yelp, so Sam just goes with it.

They have made recent investments in some recreational camping gear. Dean figured out how to apply their stolen credit cards to dividends at Gander Mountain. While this is usually good for hunting supplies, it has also come in handy for the folding camp chairs that Dean packed into the Impala.

Sam starts a campfire, and Castiel is peeling potatoes so they can make foil meals. It's actually very sweet, Cas has taken to wearing Dean's shirts and has collected a few pairs of jeans and joggers. Sam is happy for the two of them, even if they're so gooey it makes him feel sick sometimes.

Dean comes back a couple of minutes later with a map of the campground and surrounding hiking trails.

Sam can't help but feel very much at peace, with the evening setting in, the trees towering up above and their campfire starting to crackle.

As they are finishing their meals, the fireflies have come out. Cas and Dean are making s'mores (and kissing behind Sam's back). The air has cooled off, and Sam has to go to his tent to grab a hoodie.

While he is far enough from the light of the fire, he notices that up through the trees he can see a few stars peeking through.

Sam grabs a random sweatshirt and returns to the fire quickly.

Dean is telling Cas about the time they went camping on the Mississippi River in Wisconsin. Cas is sitting in his lawn chair angled so he can put his feet up in Dean's lap, and his cheek is resting against the chair. They have each other's undivided attention in the firelight, and Sam can't help but feel his heart squeeze in affection for the two of them.

"Hey, have either of you heard of star tipping?" Sam asks them, interrupting a little.

Cas looks up, tilting his head, "Star tipping?"

"I'm pretty sure its called cow tipping, Sam," Dean jokes.

Sam huffs out a laugh, "No, not cow tipping. Although, that does sound like fun."

"I've actually tipped a cow before," Dean says.

"You have not," Sam laughs, incredulous.

"Yeah, I did! It was while you were in college, on a hunt with Lee. We were supposed to be killing some hippie vampires that were feeding on local farmer's animals and we ended up staked out in this fucking cow field all night..."

By the end of the story, Sam and Dean have tears in their eyes and Cas is giving Dean that gummy smile that makes it obvious he loves Dean. Sam cannot remember the time he laughed this hard.

"Yeah," Dean says, wiping his eyes, "I wish ya could have been there, Sammy."

"Me too," Sam agrees, and he means it. Stanford was worth it, but he does wonder about those years where he and Dean weren't together. He has realized as he has gotten older how much his leaving had affected Dean. He often wishes he could do it all over again and leave on better terms.

"So, what is star-tipping then, Sam?" Cas asks, turning to Sam.

Sam is pulled out of his thoughts, "Oh yeah! Do we have a flashlight?"

Dean thinks about it, "I don't think so. But we could use our phones."

"That would work," Sam agrees, "Basically, we find a dark spot where we can see the sky real well. Like an open field or somethin'."

"There was a picnic area on the map Dean got earlier," Castiel suggests, "I bet there would be room there."

"We should check it out," Sam agrees excitedly.

Dean shuffles around the fire until its burning low enough that it won't start a forest fire, and Cas changes into sweatpants to be comfy before the three of them set off towards the picnic area Cas had mentioned. Their feet crunch in the gravel, and they can see other people's fires and hear their laughter echoing through the woods. Sam remembers why he used to like camping so much. Dean and Cas hold hands.

To reach the picnic area its a bit of a climb up to the opening of the trees. But once they make it to the top, it's so worth it.

The night sky is expansive in a way that Sam feels like should be a dream. Its powdery blue and hazy mixed into the deep black. The stars glisten and shine like they only can when you are in the middle of nowhere. He does a full spin, giddy like he's a kid again.

Dean and Cas seem to feel the same way about it, Cas plopping down on a picnic table on his back, sighing deeply.

"Looks like heaven," Cas says happily, and Dean makes an approving noise, his eyes turned upwards as well.

"Ok," Sam says, back to business, "Here's what you do."

Sam explains how they should spin each other while looking up at the stars and then shine their flashlights in their eyes so they tip over.

"Are you sure about this Sammy? Sounds like it'll make me puke," Dean jokes.

"It might," Sam laughs.

"I don't know if I can get shocked by a flashlight, I am an Angel of the Lord," Castiel says, frowning.

Dean smirks, "I guess we're about to find out."

Sam goes first, letting Dean spin him by the shoulders, his eyes focused up on one very bright star, making sure to keep his balance as he spins round and round.

As he starts to lose his balance, starts to get really dizzy, suddenly Dean stops him, grabbing his shoulders.

Sam glances down only for a moment before Cas is shining his iPhone flashlight in Sam's face and effectively sending Sam toppling over into the soggy grass.

Dean is roaring with laughter as Sam tries to stand but fails, slipping a little too and landing on his ass again.

Sam giggles and Cas seems to be enjoying this too because he is asking Dean if he can go next.

Sam tunes out a little as a Dean starts to spin Cas. Sam just looks up towards the sky and watches as it slowly spins in his vision.

All of the sudden Sam realizes that he doesn't really need this anymore. Sam isn't tempted by that spinning, out of focus, high feeling like he had been last year. This feels innocent: like he's in Tennessee in middle school on a camping trip with friends again.

He hears Cas let out a yell as he topples to the ground too— apparently not immune to the star-tipping like he thought.

Sam is hit with that feeling that he has so often now of understanding:

That he is small in all of this. He is tiny— anchored to the wet grass at the top of a hill in a vast forest. The trees surround him, the people in this campground surround him. Dean and Cas laughing together, so in love and right there in Sam's orbit.

All around him, millions of people are living out their lives. All under the same endless glittering sky, all connected by life and death and heaven and hell.

Sam is a tiny part of it— but fate has made him such an important piece of all of it. He has fought for good, for people's lives and saved countless. Even if Sam might feel small sometimes, even if he feels stupid, or like he's a failure or a junkie— the truth is that Sam is truly a worthwhile addition to planet earth.

Even if he can't tell who's driving sometimes, Sam belongs to these people. Sam belongs right where he is— he is worth the time and effort that people are putting into him.

Sam is a good person, and he wants to be alive.

And Sam actually believes it, he finds.

And that really is all that matters.

FIN.


End file.
